


Let's Be Unpredictable

by thatsrightdollface



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Another Episode
Genre: (basically... Despair Wins AU!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Marriage, Towa City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-16 01:44:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19308103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsrightdollface/pseuds/thatsrightdollface
Summary: Izuru and the Servant are married, for Hope and Despair and…  Possibly, against all odds…  Also for happiness.This was written for the Komahina Exchange on tumblr, for tumblr user bluenurse/Ao3 user Ultimate_Hope_Formerly_Known_As_Luck!  It’s following their prompt, “Despair Wedding with Izuru and Servant, bride Kamukura please hehe.”  :D  Aw, I had fun.





	Let's Be Unpredictable

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tumblr user bluenurse](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tumblr+user+bluenurse), [Ultimate_Hope_Formerly_Known_As_Luck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ultimate_Hope_Formerly_Known_As_Luck/gifts).



> Hi there!!! I hope you enjoy this fic, if you read it. I was happy to step in as an alternate for this one!!! >:)

1.

Izuru Kamukura tried to smile, seeing himself in his wedding dress.  To test if he could, mostly.  Izuru was reflected in a shattered shopfront window, just then; the street had been splintered to screaming-siren pieces around him and the air was sour with ash.  This was a ruined place, but the man who could love a creature like Izuru – who adored him almost too completely, given how Izuru felt like a ghost of his own self – said that meant it had become the perfect garden.  They had planted the despairing, gory seeds of Hope here.  It was time to see what would rise up and make everything even more beautiful.

That was so boring, Izuru told him.   Told Nagito Komaeda, who insisted on being called “Servant” so much of the time.  The bodies mangled along the side of the road, left kicked and splattered apart by mechanical death-bears were so boring.  Whatever “Hope” was supposedly going to come next…  Whatever awful purpose Junko Enoshima had bound Nagito and all his old classmates to serve…  Izuru tried to feel something for it all, he really did, but he was hollow inside like his heart was clear cold glass.

The Servant only hummed and shook his head, hearing things like that.  He said, “Hope is never boring, I don’t think.  Though…  As  _you’re_  the Ultimate Hope…  I bet you know better than I do, right?  I could have sworn your heart was only blood and meat!”

Izuru understood he had been named the Ultimate Hope.  He understood his talent was an abyss, an impossibly deep well of potential that’d swallowed up whatever his ordinary self had been like, once.  He also understood that Nagito couldn’t know what it was like to feel so empty.  Nagito was always full of shaking words, full of wants and eagerness and the kind of desperation that meant he would give anything for  _what they were_  to matter.  Meant he would drink horrible milkshakes he’d accidentally made for those twisted Warriors of Hope out of mostly lard…  Meant he’d tracked Izuru down and tried to get to know him once the world had been almost completely won for Despair. 

Izuru might have expected someone like the Servant to irritate him for all time.  Now, though, he watched his lip twitch in the cracked-open shop window and straightened the sleeves of his dress.  Jataro Kemuri, the Li’l Ultimate Art, had made that dress out of yellowed bandages and lace, out of caution tape and glass shards and mismatched crystals plundered from very expensive shops.  He was one of the Warriors of Hope Nagito served, and they had defeated so much of the Future Foundation now.  Komaru Naegi’s death had been such a dark and hopeless one…  Nothing like what so many people had wanted for her, given what Nagito’d confided about Monaca Towa’s actual plans.  Humanity’s champions were falling, one by one, all the time.

Izuru had wanted to see which was less boring — Hope or Despair — but maybe the least predictable thing for him personally could be a self-proclaimed Servant asking him to make actual proper milkshakes for a gang of murderous children.  The Ultimate Hope had baked cookies, too, and helped decorate his own wedding cake.  Maybe the least predictable thing here could be Nagito Komaeda his own self.  The Servant asked for favors in a way that implied he didn’t expect even the infamous Izuru Kamukura to refuse. 

There was no reason to expect that someone able to bring the Remnants of Despair down – able to change all this – might still stumble out of the ashes of the world…  But Nagito Komaeda believed all the same.  His stubbornness?  That was predictable.  But the earnest, broken innocence waiting behind that faith was something Izuru had found himself wondering about lately.

There was no reason to expect that someone like Izuru Kamukura was capable of being truly known, either.  But there you go – Nagito wanted to know him anyway.  And after Izuru had shot him, too; after Nagito and his classmates had become so ruinously changed.

Maybe it meant something that Izuru even  _thought_  about smiling, before he got married.  This was a union of Despair.  This was flipping off the Future Foundation just one more time, gathering the people who had ended the world to celebrate a pair of murderers ruling over their graveyard.  Taunting the dead, willing someone to stand against them.

Izuru’s face felt lifeless as the shop lying broken apart before him, in the end, with all its toppled headless mannequins and shredded half-off sweaters.  Bloody carpets, sparking streetlights.  He shook his head, muttered, “Useless,” and spun around on his heel. 

2.

Nagito’s face was always sort of twitching, on the other hand: full of expression and nothing like Izuru’s at all.  There was rot seeping deeper under Nagito’s skin all the time, too…  He should have died ages ago, by rights, years before Izuru ever met him.  That had been one of the first things Izuru thought about, meeting the Servant:  _here is a man who was supposed to be dead.  I wonder why he isn’t, yet?_

Thoughts like that made Izuru feel an ache that might have possibly been loss, sometimes, nowadays.  He kept expecting to grow numb to it.  The world was a stretch of nothings, bored and waiting for change that never came.  Nagito was something sort of struggling to be new, and he combed out Izuru’s long, long hair with shuddering fingers.  It had grown…  Unpleasant…  Imagining him truly gone.  Nagito’s living hand was so gentle with him, as though Izuru was someone who should be treated with care.  One of Nagito’s hands belonged to Junko Enoshima, the Ultimate Despair, of course, and  _that_  hand was so cold and rubbery against Izuru’s skin when Nagito petted bits of charred building off his cheek.  Simple, kind motions like that contradicted everything his new hand represented, but Nagito didn’t seem to realize it at all.  There was that good-intentioned sweetness, again, the impossible optimism behind everything terrifying the Servant did.  How was it possible? 

Nagito couldn’t move that dead-girl’s hand very well, even now.  Usually he kept Junko’s fingers hidden beneath a singed old mitten, but he’d thought it was important Izuru understood who he agreed to tie himself to.  It was possible Nagito hadn’t expected Izuru to go along with his plan at all – it was possible part of him would always be stuck trying to figure out how to respond when Izuru had actually said  _yes_. 

“If we’re going to get married, even for the sake of Despair…  For the sake of  _Hope_ , I mean, the Hope that has to come after…  You should know everything there is to know about me, if you want.  I won’t keep any secrets.  You can ask me anything, okay?”

Nagito said that sort of thing, but his words were like a carousel, spinning around and around, the carnival music growing warbly and strange.  Busted speakers, toxic, chipping paint.  Izuru both understood him and thought maybe this Servant wasn’t the kind of person it was easy to get to know no matter how completely he wanted someone else to know him.  Nagito could spill all his secrets out to someone, but what made him tick…  What kept him going…  Well.   _That_  was hard to get anyone to understand.  Nagito’s nature was his alone, the same as Izuru’s inscrutable talent.  They were both cut off so much of the time, keeping their own company even in a room surrounded by the people Junko Enoshima would have called their “Friends.”

The Warriors of Hope.  The Remnants of Despair – Nagito’s old classmates.  They had all gathered here in Towa City to see this wedding.  To will the Future Foundation out of hiding once again, if there was anyone left to take the bait.

The Ultimate Animal Breeder’s beasts had blood hardening under their claws, now; they prowled the streets, scavenging from the dead.  The Ultimate Musician was going to sing as Izuru led himself up a crooked aisle to the Servant’s side, and her songs would make almost anyone who heard them feel a deep, chest-crushing Despair.  Sometimes people cried, feeling that, or screamed, or tried to scrape out their ears…   But the Servant always laughed.

Nagito would be laughing at the end of the aisle, then, his arms folded around himself and chains hanging heavy from his neck.

How predictable.

Izuru thought he could imagine the panicked, spinning look in his husband-to-be’s eyes — imagine it perfectly, down to his pale eyelashes, down to the twitch of his brows — even now.  He made his way through the corpse of Towa City, stepping over a broken Megaphone Hacking Gun on his way.  If Izuru didn’t step  _just right_ on the glittery shrapnel shoes Jataro had made him, they would slice his feet to ribbons.  That was probably meant as a gift — meant to make things less boring.

Of course Izuru didn’t slip and cut his feet, not even once.

3.

Izuru Kamukura took the Servant’s so-cold dead-girl’s hand under a broken roof, under a smoky sky.  Nagito’s flyaway hair had been combed out just a little, and he was wearing a tattered suit jacket over his ordinary clothes.  Just that morning his ridiculous luck had accidentally flooded their hideout building — the clothes he’d been intending to wear today had been completely trashed.

That was alright. Nagito had been called the Ultimate Lucky Student, once, and at least the calamity that followed him everywhere was sometimes difficult to predict.

There was a constant guarantee that something would go strangely around the Servant — either amazingly right or amazingly wrong — but it was true that Izuru couldn’t always guess exactly what.  He had told Nagito he enjoyed that about him, once, and Nagito had offered him a sing-song story about a time when nobody in his family had been willing to pay the ransom to bring him home.  He was so much trouble; he was dangerous; he was alone.

When Izuru took Nagito’s hand, the Servant grinned all lopsided and spun him around to see the glass on his wedding dress catch the sticky chemical light.  Izuru let him.  He had been wondering why Nagito wasn’t laughing the sort of laugh that shook his bones, as the Ultimate Musician sang just moments before, but now that he’d reached the end of the aisle he saw Nagito had worn nearly-invisible earplugs.

“I should keep you guessing sometimes, shouldn’t I?  If I want to make you happy?” the Servant murmured, then.  The affection in his voice was enough that Izuru couldn’t meet his eyes.

Izuru wanted to tell Nagito that he didn’t know how to be happy — that he hadn’t been  _created_  to be happy — but all of a sudden he realized that he was squeezing Nagito’s… Junko’s…. Waxy-dead hand.  Nagito wouldn’t be able to feel that, no matter how hard Izuru squeezed, no matter how tenderly.

That was familiar, somehow.  Izuru might have almost felt tears burning along the back of his eyes.  Could that have been the Ultimate Musician’s talent finally working on him, there?

The Future Foundation didn’t make it for their ceremony, not this time.  No one attempted to stop them, or bring them to justice, or shoot anybody in the back of the head with high-tech weapons that broke just about as easily as the less expensive kind. 

Izuru might have expected the Servant to be disappointed by that, but he could tell Nagito wasn’t.  Not really.

“If nobody else stands for Hope, maybe we’ll have to,” Nagito told Izuru Kamukura, the Ultimate Hope, just after their wedding in the name of Despair.  The Ultimate Chef had begun to cut the cake, by that point, and sickly-sweet strawberry syrup bled out of it like a wound.  “Maybe we’ll have to be the game changers. You ever think about that?”

“Yes,” Izuru answered.  But of course, with his earplugs in, it was difficult to tell if Nagito heard.

“From Hope’s stepping-stones to its champions,” Nagito murmured.  “What do you say, Izuru?”

Izuru thought.  He thought about what it meant that the idea of a world without Nagito Komaeda in it struck him as even more hopelessly boring than the one they were rattling around in.  He thought about Nagito’s unknowing contradiction; he thought about how it had felt trying to offer his own reflection a smile.

After a long, slow breath, Izuru said, “I think the music’s starting, again.  You should dance with me,” and Nagito Komaeda blinked at him.  Wide-eyed.  Mouth hanging partway open.  The Servant finally choked on that swaying, dizzy-eyed laugh of his, then, and promised he would do his best not to stomp on Izuru’s toes.


End file.
